


Beast in a Box

by kaurakahvi



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, M/M, Melancholy, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaurakahvi/pseuds/kaurakahvi
Summary: It's just another Christmas at the Institute. That's how time works, right?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Beast in a Box

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays. It's been a year. Everyone deserves a break, so I wrote one. Thanks.

* * *

  
Jon blinks. The lights in the archives are bright and the smell of mulled wine is so strong it's almost nauseatingly pungent and sweet, and he has little memory how he came to be there. At first, he panics; it's a reasonable response to finding one's self in the midst of a situation that cannot be recalled or reasoned with. But it feels... benign. It feels celebratory, so he leans back in his chair and takes a breath, tries to remember how he got there before making any rash decisions. There _is_ a mug there on his table, the same table he's been working at for years, on top of a statement he assumes he was interrupted examining if not _reading_ when the mug arrived. He touches it with his fingertips, the warm side of it, to assure himself that it is real and this is not a hallucination. His head aches a little, but everything seems to be _alright_ ; the mug is corporeal enough, its ceramic side smooth and polished, and as he turns it he feels a little... awkward reading the text printed upon its side. _Tears of my employees,_ it states. The tears are red, the pungent and sweet smell lingering heavy in the steam that rises from them. Jon forces himself to laugh a little. He doesn't remember how the mug's gotten there, but... it feels appropriate enough. With a shiver he turns the text away from himself and lifts the mug to his lips, if only to continue reassuring himself that this is normal.

Of course it's normal. This is the Institute he works at. This is his... his _office_ , his territory, his Archive. It seems significant, but it's mundane. He's been here for years, hasn't he?

He drinks the mulled wine and places the mug back on the table. Yes, everything is as it should be. He's just tired. He doesn't sleep well, after all. That sounds like him. His fingertips turn the page of the statement idly before he leans over it and clears his throat.  
  


* * *

  
"Hold it," Martin breathes out, and Tim's fingers wrap around the kitten more firmly.

It's struggling, the little beast. Sasha doesn't look like she approves of what they're doing.

"Hey, Sasha? It's a cat. It'll be _fine_ ," Tim tells her, noticing the same sour look upon her features. "Cats _love_ boxes."

"Could you just wrap a ribbon around it or something?" Sasha asks. "This just seems cruel for no particular reason. It doesn't have to be literally wrapped up."

"It's fine, Sasha, I'm leaving it a _lot_ of space to breathe. It'll only be there for like, five minutes," Martin assures her.  
He's almost finished measuring the square of wrappings they need to cover the whole cardboard box. The paper's got some cartoony trees printed upon it with little golden, metallic stars on top of them and floating about the space inbetween. He's feeling a little... antsy, really. Jon makes him feel that way. It's nothing new, of course, he just... he's just a little bit in love. It's fine. That's how it should be. It feels _right_.  
"Okay. Drop her in, will you?"

Tim grabs the kitten under its tiny arms, and it meows loudly in protest even as he cups its behind in his palm. He lifts it up to his face and smiles at it, fingertip running down the top of its small head and between the two grey-brown, black-tipped tabby ears - they've got little tufts of fur on top sticking up like a lynx's ears. Martin watches him, unable to help the soft smile on his face. Jon's going to _love_ it. They've talked about it before, haven't they? Martin can't exactly remember, but he knows Jon's wanted a cat for a long time. This one's a... a rescue. Someone's accidental litter. It's going to be a great cat for Jon, and Martin had to get it because... because Jon's never going to, right? He doesn't plan for the future like that. He's too stuck being a workaholic. He needs something to get him going home in the evenings. 

Martin lifts the box and holds the top open, and Tim lifts the cat up above it and slowly places it inside. The kitten meows again even as its body meets the towels inside that Martin brought from home to have them smelling like him, but it appears to calm down soon and curiously sniffs around itself even as the lid of the box is closed again. Sasha lets out a disapproving sigh, but doesn't contest it when Martin places the box down on the square of paper laid out on the floor and begins to wrap it up.

"You know they say don't ever buy an animal for somebody else as a Christmas present? That's how you get strays," she says then.

"Ah, drop it, Sasha," Tim says cheerfully, stretching his arms up above his head. "Martin's right, Jon's never going to do it and he needs something soft and warm to cuddle at night that isn't literally Martin. Maybe it'll relax him a little bit, I don't know. Really, it's harmless. He'll love it."

"Well, just tell him I'll take the cat if he ends up feeling like he has to give her up," Sasha says with weight in her words, and Martin nods.

"I'll tell him that. It's going to be ok, Sasha, we've talked about it before. He wants a cat, it's just... never a good time for him. So, you know. We just thought we'd pick a good time _for_ him."

Sasha leans her body to Martin's office desk and lifts up her mug of eggnog. Tim notices and parts his eyes from the box now containing a small cat, and he lifts his gaze to Sasha, smirking. It takes Sasha a moment to realise her drink has been contaminated.

"You didn't," she says, barely containing a snort to retain her fake-judgemental voice.

"Oh, I'd never," Tim reassures her, smiling brightly.

Martin eyes his own eggnog suspiciously, but he's got his hands full of wrapping paper and tape. The truth will have to wait.  
  


* * *

  
There's a knock on the door. It comes at a good moment: the mulled wine he drank almost without noticing was most certainly alcoholic and Jon can feel it in his relaxed, warm body. His anxiety's toned down and everything feels temporarily almost _alright_ , even though the statement he spoke into his recorder still lingers at the edges of his consciousness where he's laid it to rest.

"Come in," he calls clearly through the haze.

Martin peeks his head in, and Jon's chest tightens. He smiles a genuine, relieved smile, although he's uncertain why he feels that way at the sight of him. Maybe he was afraid Martin wouldn't be there. After all, he's still not really sure how he ended up there himself - he just knows that it's alright that they're all there. They... all. Yes; behind Martin he can see Sasha peeking in, and behind them stands Tim, carrying a thermos with him. They all file into the room and close the door behind them. Martin at the head has his arms wrapped around a gift-wrapped square, and Jon has the creeping feeling he'll be the recipient of it.

"Ready for a second round?" Tim asks, stepping forwards and leaving Jon no time to decline before he's already poured him a second mug of the same mulled wine. "Nice mug."

Jon tilts his head a little uncertainly, attempting a smile.  
"Thank you," he says, not for the comment on his mug but for the drink that he didn't ask for. He's got a feeling that he _wants_ to be a little intoxicated today, that he's been due for a little relaxation for a long time now.

"Don't drink too much," Martin says as he steps up next, taking Tim's place at the front. "Tim's probably been more than a little heavy-handed with that, if the eggnog is anything to go by."

"I'm just making sure we're all having a good time and we _all_ know that the only way to have a good time at the Magnus Institute is to be really, really drunk so you don't know that you're there to begin with," Tim states in a contented tone.

Martin rolls his eyes and places the box in front of Jon.  
"Merry Christmas, Jon."

Jon reaches his hand forwards, then retreats it and glances up at Martin. He's smiling so softly, his eyes warm as they meet Jon's, and Jon's heart skips a beat. He smiles back and pulls his mug closer as if for emotional support, and then he looks down at the box which is... making a sound, a scratching sound that _alarms_ him, makes him question where he is again. Is it something bad? Will something _change_ if he opens it? He picks up the little card attached to the ribbon.

 _"From Martin, Tim and Sasha. To Jon."  
_The back of the card, in Sasha's handwriting, states: _"Open quickly."_

Jon lifts his gaze back to Martin for comfort. If Martin's there then nothing inside the box can be that bad. It'll be alright, he knows it will. He _knows_ it like it's plain as day to him, the only thing he needs is to reassure himself that Martin's with him. He wouldn't take a noisy box like that from anybody else but he trusts Martin, at least. He _loves_ Martin. The thought warms him up almost as much as the mouthful of mulled wine he drinks before he sets his fingers to the task of unwrapping a cardboard box. There's a sound... a sound that a little baby might make, he thinks, and his hands stop over the box for a moment. No, not a _baby_ , a baby _animal_ : it's either a little whimper or a meow. His lips part and his heart races a little faster, and he turns the flap of the box to pull it up.

Inside he finds a tiny, curious tabby: black stripes, yellow eyes, white paws and chest and a brownish coat underneath all those markings. Its little pink nose lifts up and sniffs his fingers and it meows again, lifting its paws onto the edge of the box and pulling itself up to climb out, but the box is too tall, so Jon reaches in and helps it onto his hands. It's so small, so _fragile_ in his palms and so completely unthreatening and mundane and _good_ that he almost tears up at the sight. The silence in the room is ringing in his ears before he lifts his gaze, and he's got that stupid smile of wonder on his face that he knows makes him look at least ten years younger than he is, and a hundred younger than he feels.

"Thank you," he breathes out.

Martin chuckles. Sasha exchanges looks with Tim, who's grinning in his usual way.

"We all thought you needed a friend," Martin says, daring to step closer to the desk again.  
His hands land on the edge and he breathes out, shivering before a chuckle escapes him.  
"You can name her whatever you'd like."

Jon's holding the cat against his chest now, and she's very quiet there, no longer struggling but simply soaking up his warmth. He feels an emotion he can't really describe that makes him reach out his other hand and touch Martin on the cheek, and Martin closes his eyes and smiles and leans closer, and they kiss softly over the desk. The audience lets out a mixed response: Sasha chuckles, Tim sighs.

"There they go again," Tim says, that same grin lingering in his voice.

Jon ignores him.  
"Would you help me pick a name?" he asks, his lips still very close to Martin's.

"Tonight after work?" Martin asks, and Jon nods.

He knows that they're headed for the same address - wherever in London that is. It all feels... very good now; so very real that he can almost believe it.


End file.
